


Empty Spaces (what are we living for?)

by angelskuuipo



Category: Hannibal (TV), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Empathy, GFY, Gen, Loneliness, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelskuuipo/pseuds/angelskuuipo
Summary: My shields are my sanctuary and my prison.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Please do not take, borrow, copy, or otherwise make like it is yours. Thank you.
> 
> I’ve been entranced with the TV Show ‘Hannibal’ lately. The character of Will Graham inspired this little ficlet, but it could be read as an original piece. It _is_ an original piece. You don’t need to be familiar with the character or show. Having said that, hi! This is my first foray into the Hannibal fandom and I'm a little nervous. I hope I did Will's head justice if you choose to read this as coming from him. 
> 
> Title is from Queen’s ‘The Show Must Go On’. Unbetaed, except for having been read over several times by myself. If you notice any glaring errors, please point them out gently.
> 
> Written: March 31, 2017  
> Word Count: 333

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Do you know what it’s like to feel another person’s emotions? To be able to taste them in the air? To empathize so much that you almost become them?

I do.

It hollows you out, twists your perceptions so you don’t know if what you’re feeling is actually from you or just from what’s around you. It turns you into an empty shell waiting to be filled and if you don’t have good shields, you don’t get to choose what fills you up.

It’s easier to feel the bad, the anger, the despair, the desperation. They taste like ashes, burned coffee, and bitter herb. Happiness, love, peace is much more difficult to grasp hold of. I ache for the taste of sweet cream, strawberries, and lavender honey. There’s less of it in the world than there should be. Or maybe I’m just around the wrong kind of people and situations. 

Huh, now that I think about it, it’s the shields that make me feel hollow. I don’t want to feel everything, so I wind up not feeling _anything_. My shields are my sanctuary and my prison. 

I mirror, I act my ass off so I can blend in. I deserve a fucking Oscar. I don’t want to pretend anymore; it’s exhausting, but I don’t really have a choice. If I want to continue being in the world I have to act like I belong there.

Sometimes, I wish someone would see me as I really am and not be afraid. I wish I could find a bit of solace, a real connection with even one person. Then again, I’m terrified of the same prospect. Really, in the end, I wish I could feel anything at all and know that the emotion was truly my own.

If wishes were fishes…

Another day, another act in my endless play. Time to put the mask back on and take the stage. As Freddie Mercury so eloquently crooned, the show must go on.

On with the show.

-30-


End file.
